


you drew stars around my scars

by melodrama4ever



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: F/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, but like, i just wanted to upload it already, im not done at all but i have a pretty good idea of where its going, implied urbosa/queen, in a fun and romantic way now maybe?, mostly - Freeform, mother figure urbosa, nb link rights, this is entirely self indulgent, this is m/f but neither of them are straight. or cis. fuck you., your honor they were lesbians, zelda still hates link
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodrama4ever/pseuds/melodrama4ever
Summary: Zelda had a lot of scars.She didn’t, however, have a lot of injuries. No; these scars belonged to someone else. To her soulmate.She often wondered how her soulmate got hurt all the time. What could another eight-year old possibly be doing to have all these scrapes and bruises? Zelda never got her own scrapes or bruises! She used to, when she was much younger and would play with the other kids in the courtyard. But when she turned seven, her father had told her that running about and screaming was unladylike and unbecoming of a princess.So, Zelda never got her own bruises or scrapes anymore. She didn’t mind-- they hurt a bit, and her soulmate had plenty for the two of them. Her parents minded though. She was made to wear dresses with long sleeves and skirts that trailed on the floor during even the hottest days of the summer. She was told that these scars weren’t ladylike or becoming of a princess, either.Zelda decided that she didn’t want to be ladylike or a princess much longer.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Urbosa & Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 178





	1. zelda

**Author's Note:**

> title from "cardigan" by taylor swift, only vaguely related to the plot! find me at bogbodygal on tumblr (that i made just for my writing lol)

Zelda had a lot of scars.

She didn’t, however, have a lot of injuries. No; these scars belonged to someone else. To her _soulmate._

She often wondered how her soulmate got hurt all the time. What could another eight-year old possibly be doing to have all these scrapes and bruises? Zelda never got her _own_ scrapes or bruises! She used to, when she was much younger and would play with the other kids in the courtyard. But when she turned seven, her father had told her that running about and screaming was _unladylike_ and _unbecoming of a princess_. 

This confused her. First, she wasn’t a lady. She was a girl-- a child. She knew that there was a distinction between the two. She’d be a lady when she got older-- maybe she’d be a lady at twelve or thirteen! Certainly not eight. Second of all, she couldn’t understand why princesses couldn’t play with their friends. Shouldn’t everyone be allowed to have fun?

When she voiced these concerns, however, her father told her that she simply did not understand and would appreciate the rules when she got older. She didn’t think she would.

So, Zelda never got her own bruises or scrapes anymore. She didn’t mind-- they hurt a bit, and her soulmate had plenty for the two of them. Her parents minded though. She was made to wear dresses with long sleeves and skirts that trailed on the floor during even the hottest days of the summer. She was told that these scars weren’t ladylike or becoming of a princess, either. 

Zelda decided that she didn’t want to be ladylike or a princess much longer.

-

Zelda wondered if soulmates could feel heart hurt, too. 

She really hoped not. She wouldn’t want her soulmate to be feeling what she was. 

Death was a funny thing. People kept telling Zelda that her mother was “in a better place” and “with the Goddess.” They told her not to worry; they were sure that Zelda would see her again someday, when the time was right. This confused Zelda. Her mother always told her that the best place to be was by Zelda’s side. How could she be somewhere better? And her mother had possessed the power of the Goddess. She was with Hylia always. Why was now different? And Zelda wasn’t going to worry-- until people kept telling her not to. Then she began to worry. And as time went on, Zelda started to suspect that maybe her mother didn’t go to a “better place.” Maybe she just left. Zelda thought that she wouldn’t want to see her mother, again, soon-- not if it meant going where she was. And that thought hurt a lot more than the other thoughts. 

So she hoped that soulmates could only feel bumps and scrapes and bruises. She knew that whatever she was feeling was Too Much and Too Bad. Zelda would not wish it on anyone else. 

-

Zelda suspected that she had finally become a lady.

She had duties now, like praying and writing hymns to the Goddess. Her schooling had begun to get more advanced. She was taught about her bloodline and her power and the stories about the princesses of old and the good they did for Hyrule. She was particularly interested in the newly uncovered ancient technology. They had dug up an entire army of beasts they called Guardians and grand vessels they called Divine Beasts. 

She only spent a short time of her tutoring hours learning about the ancient technology. When she requested to be taught more, her father sighed and said, “Zelda, that is not for you to know. You must focus on unearthing the powers of the Goddess. That should be your only task.”

Of course, she still learned other things. Her ladies in waiting taught her how to sew, for example. She did not enjoy it very much. Whenever she’d complain, her father would give her the same stern look he always did, and she would resume threading a needle through a half-finished tunic. 

Sewing was probably her least favorite activity. It was repetitive and mindless and so awfully _boring._ She would much rather have a book in her hands than a piece of cloth! And her hands-- her hands were taking the brunt of her bad sewing luck. She had stabbed herself with the tiny, slippery needle so many times, she stopped yelping when the sharp end would stick through the cloth and (rather inevitably, she thought) pierce the tip of her finger. She wondered if her soulmate felt _that._

She doubted it. Whoever her soulmate was, they had enough going on in the _injuries_ department. They were so frequently and obviously hurt that the court had begun to whisper about the mirror images of their injuries that appeared on Zelda’s skin. 

“Perhaps he is a commoner?” she heard one lady ask.

“No,” responded another, “A fighter. And not a prince, either-- no royally trained soldier has those kinds of marks.” She heard a small gasp from the group of surrounding ladies. 

“Could this mean…” One started.

“Perhaps…” Another chimed in.

“The hero?” A third lady finished.

“We had better hope not. If it’s the hero, then that means the legends are true. And that girl couldn’t speak to the Goddess if Hylia herself invited her to tea.” Another gasp from the ladies. “What? You know it’s true. Besides, I don’t put too much faith in the legends anyway. Perhaps she will simply fall in love with someone from her guard.”

A chorus of small giggles. “Yes,” said the first lady. “How absurd. Very fitting for this one.”

Zelda had stopped listening after that.

-

 _He_ was being appointed her guard tomorrow. 

Zelda rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in one of her many pillows. She groaned. 

She didn’t need a guard. And she certainly didn’t need _him_ to guard her.

Everyone loved Link. He’d mastered swordsmanship as a child and only grew in skill from there. He bested most of the royal guard in hand-to-hand combat, had an eye for archery sharper than that of the finest Rito archer, and was faster and stronger than someone his size should logically be. He excelled in every way that was expected of him. Link was the perfect chosen hero, the finest candidate to wield the Master Sword. 

And what was she? A girl with no power. Zelda had a crown and a bloodline that traced back to the Goddess, but what else did she have? Not her studies-- those were being slowly stolen from her by her father. Not her mother-- she had died when Zelda was still a girl, leaving her with almost no allies in the castle. And definitely not her power. Her damned power. 

If Hylia was paying attention to her, it was to laugh at the joke she had become. A princess of legend that lacked the legend itself. A girl with Goddess blood who couldn’t speak to the Goddess. A wise scholar with no research material. 

No, she did not have her power. She spent every moment of every day praying to the Goddess to awaken it-- whatever _it_ would be. And now, she would be shadowed in her failing endeavours by a boy who was her complete opposite. Link was, by all means, successful. He had exceeded every expectation, broke down every inch of doubt surrounding his abilities to protect Hyrule.

And she hated him for it. 

Zelda turned onto her back and took a deep breath. She forced her mind to clear (it never did), and tried to go back to sleep.

-

Out of all the things she could be doing with her time, she had to be _sewing._ Hyrule was facing its greatest threat in ten-thousand years, and the princess who was supposed to save them all from certain doom was _sewing._

She understood the significance behind the Champion’s gear, but did _she_ have to make it? Honestly, this was not the most important part of the Champions’ appointment that she had to attend to! 

But the fact still remained that she _had_ to. So she swallowed her complaints and turned her attention back to the tunic she was constructing. Zelda had finished most of the garments-- Revali, Mipha, Urbosa, and Daruk each had a sky blue piece of cloth to display somewhere on their bodies-- and had just started the final one. She was making Link a tunic, which was much more complicated than any of the other garments had been. She was gathering fabric when she realized that she’d skipped a crucial part of tunic-making: she had forgotten to measure the wearer. Zelda cursed softly. 

Luckily, measuring the wearer wouldn’t take much time or coordination, as he was standing ten feet from her on watch by the door. “Link,” she called. She heard the clanking of armor that let her know that he had turned towards her. “It’s,” she started, but realized she didn’t know how to proceed from there. He’d need to take off his armor and his shirt in order for the tunic to fit him even remotely well. She felt her cheeks go hot. “It’s for the Champion’s tunic. I forgot to measure you.”

He stared at her.

She took in a breath. “In order to get an accurate measurement, I’ll need to measure you without the armor.” She turned her back and hoped that she wouldn’t need to spell it out any further.

The rustling of metal coming undone told her that he’d gotten the message. Zelda waited until the sounds of bulky armor being adjusted had ceased, grabbed her measuring tape, and turned to face him.

She could almost feel her heart stop in her chest. Across Link’s torso and arms was every scar she had ever known. The deep slash on his left shoulder, the claw marks on his abdomen, the burn on his forearm; wounds she had never experienced, but still bore the marks of. The tiny cuts strewn about his entire body matched hers perfectly. She looked to his hands and saw the spot where she had pricked herself sewing, just a few minutes ago. She forced herself to breathe. 

Link was just standing there, waiting, so she composed herself and drifted through the motions of measuring him. A line on his back there-- that had appeared six years ago. The scrape on his elbow made itself known yesterday. Dimly, she registered these. She moved like a ghost. 

Finally, she took the last measurement, jotted some numbers down, and spoke. “Thank you. The tunic will be ready for the ceremony in a fortnight.” He nodded and began to put his armor back on. 

Ten thoughtless and unproductive minutes later, Zelda pulled herself back to reality. “I’m going to retire for the night,” she announced. In response, Link looked to the window, where the sun had just barely begun to show signs of setting. She huffed. “I’m tired; I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight.” 

She rushed past him, through the open doors, and hurried to her room. She fell into her bed and lied there for hours, thinking, thinking, thinking, until she drifted to sleep.

She dreamt of him.

-

She woke early the next morning and made her way to the castle library. She found every book, scroll, document, poem, anything written about the heroes and princesses of legend before her. She couldn’t find anything that she didn’t already know. In every cycle, every reincarnation, after the hero and the princess defeated Ganon and fulfilled their destinies, they disappeared from the records. Nothing was written about their lives _after_ their battles. Here, a ruined portrait of a brunette princess and a blond hero clad in green. There, a diagram of the same Master Sword that she knew so well. A description of the final battle with Demise. With Ganon. With Ganondorf. Ganon again. After their victory, nothing.

It really was a very simple question that she wanted an answer to. Unfortunately, she couldn’t just waltz up to any old historian and ask if the hero and the princess were ever in love. First of all, she doubted that anyone would know. Zelda knew as much about Hyrule’s history as anyone; if she didn’t have the answer, who would? Second of all, everyone in the castle was a terrible gossip. Word that she inquired about the hero and princess’s love lives would reach Link (or worse-- her father) by the end of the day.

Would Link even care? Though he had been slowly opening up to her, Zelda was unsure if the blossoming friendship was due to genuine interest or just simple convenience and proximity. After all, making friends with the person you’re assigned to guard every moment of every day just makes sense. Perhaps it’s just a work thing. Oh, Hylia. Is she his _job?_ She’s definitely his job. Before Zelda could truly begin a proper panic, she pushed the thought from her mind and got back to work. Someone, somewhere, at some time must have written about life after the battle for her ancestors. She simply had to find it. 

A few hours and a couple of near-breakdowns later, she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. “Zelda,” said a familiar, calming voice. “Little bird. What has gotten into you?”

“Urbosa!” Zelda cried. “You’re early!” The Gerudo Champion and chief wasn’t due to arrive at the castle until the beginning of the next week to begin preparing for the Champion’s ceremony. Yet, here she was, standing at Zelda’s back in the royal library.

“I am,” Urbosa smiled. “I guess I knew you needed me.”

Zelda turned around and buried her face in Urbosa’s shoulder. She enveloped the Champion in a hug and stood there for a comfortable minute. Drawing back, she lied, “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”

Urbosa barked a laugh. “Oh, please, spare me the excuses. You only throw yourself this deeply into your research when you’re trying to avoid your problems.”

“I do not!” Zelda cried.

To the right of them, someone slammed closed a book. Zelda made eye contact with the librarian who was glaring daggers at her. “Let’s talk somewhere else,” she said sheepishly. She gathered her research and led Urbosa out of the library. “I am committed to my research at all times. Besides, I don’t currently have any problems that I’m trying to avoid.” 

Urbosa gave a soft _hm_ to let the princess know that she did not believe her in the slightest.

“I don’t!” Zelda urged. Urbosa raised an eyebrow. Zelda’s pace slowed as she sighed. “It’s more of a _situation_ than a problem, really.”

“Would you like to discuss it?”

“Not at all.” She turned a corner.

Urbosa followed her. “ _Should_ you discuss it?”

Zelda’s shoulders slumped. “Yes.” The pair reached a set of grand double doors which Zelda hurriedly pushed open. The princess made a beeline for her bed and collapsed so that her back was flat on the mattress. “Urbosa,” she asked. “Who’s your soulmate?”

Urbosa sat down next to her; the question seemed to catch the Gerudo chief off guard. Urbosa sighed. “Someone who I loved very much. She was my favorite person.” 

“Oh,” Zelda said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, remembering her brings me joy. We had only fond memories.” Her features softened for a moment. “Why? Is that your problem?”

“ _Situation,”_ Zelda clarified. “And yes.” Once it became clear that Urbosa was waiting for her to go on, Zelda got to her feet. “Did you ever have any unsightly scars that were not your own?”

“Only once.” The Gerduo cringed. “We don’t have to dwell on it.”

Zelda neatly ignored the implied change of topic. “Did you know who it belonged to?”

“Eventually.”

“Were you surprised?”

“No. Zelda, what is going on?”

Zelda rolled up her sleeve to reveal an arm she’d been hiding for almost seventeen years. “Urbosa,” she continued, “what do these look like?”

“They look like battle scars. So your soulmate is a soldier.”

Zelda sighed and disappeared into a door. When she emerged, she was wearing a white dress that showed her neckline and her arms-- both littered with different kinds of scars. 

Urbosa whistled. “ _A lot_ of battle scars. Zelda, I don’t think your soulmate is a very _good_ soldier.”

Zelda was crying, a little bit. She had never shown anyone her phantom scars. She smiled softly. “I think that would be the first time that anyone has ever said that about him.”

Urbosa’s eyebrows furrowed and quickly raised in a moment of understanding. “Oh, little bird. Do you know who it is?” Zelda nodded in response. Urbosa opened her arms, and Zelda crashed into them. 

As Zelda drew back, Urbosa noticed the skin on her shoulder turn a violent shade of red. “It looks as though your soulmate has been burned.”

Zelda drew a hand to the mirrored wound. “Indeed,” she said quietly.

“I wonder what gave him that,” Urbosa mused. “It’s a nasty burn.”

“A wizzrobe. There are a number of them harassing travellers going into Zora’s Domain. Father thought him the most qualified soldier to take them down.” Zelda was staring intently at the back of her hand. “It’s why he is absent today.”

Urbosa took Zelda’s hand and pressed her palm against her own. On the back of Zelda’s hand were three triangles arranged on top of each other to form a larger one. The marking had been there as long as Zelda had. “Does Link know?” Urbosa asked softly. 

“I don’t think so,” Zelda replied. “How could he?”

“Perhaps he has been as diligent as you.”

Zelda sighed. “Perhaps.”

  



	2. link

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right.” He took his hand back. “So what is it?”  
> Mipha glanced at her own hand. “Have you ever had a soulmate mark?”  
> “Not since I was little,” he replied. “Why? Do you think that’s what these are?”   
> Mipha was silent for a moment. “Yes. Do you know who she could be?” Link just blinked at her. “Or he?” she added hurriedly.   
> Link laughed. “Either,” he said. “And no. I don’t have a clue as to who they are.”  
> “Interesting,” she remarked. She stared at the horizon for a long time. Finally, she said, “The Princess is giving us our Champions gear soon, yes?”  
> Link quickly took to the change of topic. “Yes,” he said. “She just measured me for my tunic a few days ago.” He frowned. “I think that was the last time she spoke to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like, a lot shorter than last chapter but i will have the next one uploaded much quicker than i took with this one!!!!

“Link,” said the Zora princess. “You _ really  _ must be more careful.”

“I know,” Link replied. The two were sitting on top of the Divine Beast Vah Ruta, watching the sun set over Zora’s Domain. Mipha was using her magic to heal Link’s many wounds; they met at this spot, once a week, for that exact purpose. It also served as time for the two to catch up; they had been best friends since childhood. Mipha usually gossiped about the Zora elders. This one says that, and  _ that  _ one says this. Oh, and the one who said that last week said this yesterday. Occasionally, the roles would swap, and Link would fill Mipha in on the drama of the Hylian court. (Link gossiped much more than he’d like to admit, but Mipha would never tell a soul how much Link talked to her. Around others, he was stoic and silent, careful not to convey any emotion and to play the perfect part of the hero. Link only spoke around Mipha and his family; anyone knowing he spoke to people he truly trusted would lead them expecting Link to talk to  _ them,  _ which would pile onto the burden on Link’s shoulders even more. Mipha cared about him too much to subject him to that, even if it meant keeping their friendship relatively secret.)

“You say that every time, yet it seems that each time we meet, you have more wounds than ever before.” Mipha sighed. “You get hurt in places I couldn’t even imagine getting hurt in. Like these!” Mipha grabbed Link’s hand and scrutinized the tips of his fingers. On some of the pads of his fingers, he had tiny prick marks. “Where in Hylia’s name did you get these?”

Link stared at his hand. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t remember getting cut there.”

“It looks like you’ve taken up sewing,” the princess remarked with a laugh. “You don’t have nearly enough patience for that.”

“I could sew,” Link objected. “Not well. But I could do it.”

“Do you even know how?”

“I could learn. Zelda sews a lot, lately, and I have nothing to do but watch her. I could figure it out if I paid attention.”

Mipha let out another laugh. “Honestly, you most likely could. You’re remarkable at everything else you do. I just couldn’t imagine you sitting patiently, going stitch by stitch.” Link smiled. “Nevermind that; let’s focus on the wounds themselves. They look fresh! How mysterious.” She waved her hand over Link’s fingers and expected the pricks to vanish. 

They didn’t. 

“That’s… odd,” Mipha said. She tried again with no result. “They’re not scars. They are obviously still wounds.” 

“It’s fine if they’re there,” Link assured her. “I didn’t even notice them.”

“No, it’s not that,” she replied. She sounded perturbed. “It’s that they  _ should  _ go away. My magic always works. Here.” Mipha reached for Link’s arm, where he’d been slashed yesterday. The bandage had just been removed and the wound was visibly irritated. Mipha waved her hand over that one, and the ugly redness subsided into a more neutral tone. Beneath Mipha’s touch, the aggravated raised flesh shrunk into a barely noticeable scar. “That works. So why doesn’t this?” She held his hand up again. 

“Counter magic?” Link suggested. “Poison?”

Mipha stared at him. “Link. You would know if you’d been poisoned.”

“Right.” He took his hand back. “So what is it?”

Mipha glanced at her own hand. “Have you ever had a soulmate mark?”

“Not since I was little,” he replied. “Why? Do you think that’s what these are?” 

Mipha was silent for a moment. “Yes. Do you know who she could be?” Link just blinked at her. “Or he?” she added hurriedly. 

Link laughed. “Either,” he said. “And no. I don’t have a clue as to who they are.”

“Interesting,” she remarked. She stared at the horizon for a long time. Finally, she said, “The Princess is giving us our Champions gear soon, yes?”

Link quickly took to the change of topic. “Yes,” he said. “She just measured me for my tunic a few days ago.” He frowned. “I think that was the last time she spoke to me.”

Mipha seemed taken aback by this. “Zelda’s speaking to you?”

“She  _ was. _ ”

“I thought she hated you.”

“So did I,” Link agreed. “But then she asked me what my favorite meal was last week. I told her. It turns out we share very similar tastes.” He smiled. “We started having small conversations each day.”

“Until she measured you?” Mipha asked.

“Yeah,” Link frowned. “I don’t know what happened.” They sat in silence for a few minutes. 

The Zora princess sighed. “I should be heading back soon,” she said. She got to her feet. “Goodnight, Link.” 

“Goodnight, Mipha,” Link replied. 

As Mipha walked away, she muttered, faintly, into the wind, “May the Goddess be with them.”

-

The next day, Link stood guard at the door as Zelda resumed working on the Champion’s Tunic. He kept turning over Mipha’s theory in his head. Soulmate marks.

Whoever they were, his soulmate had apparently been very careful to not have any marks on their body. Link actually felt kind of bad about that, because he was pretty sure he held some sort of record for “most scars.” On top of the gashes he got in battle or in training, he was also very clumsy in other walks of life. He had two bruises on his knees that he told Mipha were from being knocked down by a silver Lynel; he had actually fallen  _ up the stairs  _ of the castle. He had burns littering his hands from hot pots and plates that were almost indistinguishable from fire enemy burns. At least one of his sword slashes was from a trick he attempted that didn’t exactly pan out the way he wanted it to. 

Still, he didn’t remember doing anything to the tips of his fingers. He studied the phantom marks on his hands; his soulmate really could use a thimble, he thought. 

As Link stood scrutinizing his hands, he heard a soft cry of pain from behind him. He dropped his train of thought as his world narrowed only to the princess standing behind him. Without any hesitation, he drew his sword and turned, ready to face whatever was attacking Zelda.

It was nothing. “Oh,” The Princess said, shifting her gaze from her hand to Link’s face. “My apologies. I assure you that I am fine; I simply stabbed myself with the needle again.”

Link nodded and sheathed his sword. Zelda kept her eyes on him, almost expectantly, until he turned around. He kept his sights only on the hallway in front of him for a few seconds before curiosity got the best of him. He glanced down at his hand. 

There was a fresh prick on his left index finger.

He looked up, and then back down, just to make sure that what he was seeing was real. The mark was materializing, getting darker as he looked at it. Another unmistakeable prick. 

Link felt like he’d just been tackled by a Goron.  _ Oh,  _ he thought.

“Oh,” he said, out loud, before he could stop himself. He stared at his hands again, scrutinizing them. 

He turned to face Zelda, to see if  _ maybe  _ he could make out a pattern of scars on her hands that matched his from across the room. When he caught sight of her, she was already staring at him. 

He realized that she was staring at him, who had just been very obviously staring at his hands after Zelda had pricked herself. Zelda, who, just the other day, had measured Link for the very tunic she was currently sewing. Link, who had stood there,  _ shirtless,  _ with his constellation of scars on full display while being measured. Zelda, who had rushed out of the room without explanation and avoided him ever since.

Zelda, who was hurriedly pushing in her chair and shuffling across the room. 

She breezed past him, without even a glance, and the door had already shut in his face before he could say, “Zelda.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i said bi link rights. ask me for my "link is a he/him lesbian" powerpoint let's go. also i adore giving link personality and making him A Little Dumb. pls leave a comment if u liked it!!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> there is more but i felt that this was enough to upload as a chapter! next chapter might be the end, might not, who knows? not me. pls talk to me on tumblr at bogbodygal!


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